


Vulnerant Omnes Ultima Necat

by a_xmasmurder



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Death, Everyone loses, Gen, His very last mission, Injury, Not quite alone, TW: Blood, Wounds, spy vs spy - Freeform, tw: death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All wound, the last kills."</p><p>He always figured he'd die on his feet. He'd also figured he'd be alone when it happened. Funny how that happens - thinking you are alone when someone is always there, in your ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vulnerant Omnes Ultima Necat

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK AT THE WARNING. WARNING ^^^^ UP THERE. LOOK AT IT.
> 
> I...I am so sorry. This wanted to be written. There is no happy ending. There is no fix for this. *sighs and plunges into the bitter cold water*
> 
> I'm sorry.

There was no fanfare, no sirens or alarms at all. There was no sound, the hotel room darkened and quiet as if lovers were in residence and did not want to be disturbed. But love did not live here, only the cold hand of death. The violence was over, had been for a while. A bottle of expensive red wine lay on the floor next to the disheveled bed, empty and forgotten. Broken glass sparkled wetly around it, and the neck of one shattered wine goblet tilted against the heel of a dark red strappy stiletto. Smears of blood, both dried and fresh, marr the corpse pale flesh of the naked body spread out on the comforter. Her green eyes had lost their mischievous glitter, and stared out at nothing at all. Long curly hair, chestnut brown and wet with rain and blood, drift across the stark white pillows that were splattered and speckled with bloodstains.

The young woman hadn’t stood a chance in the game of spy versus spy, but she’d tried. Oh, did she try. The evidence of this sat in the corner of the hotel room, hidden by the pine dresser save for one thing. A bare foot twitched, moved an inch, then lay still once more. A harsh gasp cut through the heavy silence, then the quiet was broken entirely. The foot moved again, scraping against the plush carpeting, and this time there was a groan. A deep, male voice, thick with exhaustion and pain, cut through the room.

“I’m here, Moulson.” More breathing, raspy. Wet. “...bitch got me.” The foot finally caught some purchase against the pile and the man behind the dresser slid against the wall, out into the open again. A hand clutched the knife on the ground next to him, the one that had been thrust into his body, just under his right pectoral. Between his ribs, opening up a hole in his lung. The meager light from the three lamps in the room washed over him, making the bright blood bubbling out of the wound in his chest glitter against his tanned skin.

“Going to...look at that laptop. Wait one.” He pushed against the wall with his left hand, grunting with the effort that it took to get his weakening body into a somewhat upright position. “...where the hell is it?”

He still had pants and trousers on, but those were soaked in blood, both his and hers. He wobbled to his feet and staggered across the room to the dead woman’s - Lucianna’s - luggage, then fell to his knees heavily.

“Fuck.” He coughed, his hand going to his mouth in time to catch the pinkish mess he hacked up. He wiped his hand and ignored the obvious. “Hard drive, yes.” He blinked once - twice - fighting to keep conscious. His face twisted into a moue of pain as another fit of coughing sent him tipping into the foot of the bed, and he gasped as the collision jostled his dislocated shoulder.

“God - fuckin...hell. Alright.” He sagged against the cool wood frame and kicked the lid of the suitcase open with his foot.

“What am I - right, hard drive.” He groaned again. “Looking for...fuck, this hurts...” His head lolled for a second, but he blinked himself back to awareness. “I know. How long ‘til Medical...?” He sucked in another breath and winced at the twinge of pain in his chest. “No. Not going to make it. Not...in time, no.” He stared at the little green light on the front of the computer as it swam in and out of his vision. “It’s got power.” He leaned forward, nearly toppling into the luggage, and pulled the slim silver laptop to his lap and opened it. “It’s got power...tell me how to get into it...”

Wet and sticky fingers slipped on the smooth surface, smearing more blood on the keys. With a happy little chirrup, the screen lit up, illuminating the spy’s face. “Moulson...where’s the Quartermaster?” He scowled at the password prompt. “I...need him, his help. God, tired...” He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and slipped forward. The laptop spilled out of his lap as his body curled around, and he folded to the carpeting. The impact of his head on the corner of the suitcase woke him up, as did the voice in his ear. His body jerked once, painfully, and he panted.

“Yeah. ‘m here. Q. Could...yeah...” He squeezed his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his paling cheek. “...phone. Can you...yes. No one’s here...”

His phone trilled where it lay on the floor, next to his suit jacket. He stared over at it stupidly before his brain made the connection.

“Fuck, it’s over...gonna go get it...” He pulled the microphone out of his ear and dropped it to the floor next to him, and pushed himself to his knees with his good arm. “Fuckin’ shoulder... fuckin’ head. Everything hurts...” He swallowed the welling of blood trying to come up from his lung. “Oh, fuck this...” He dragged the laptop behind him as he crawled slowly to the ringing phone. His hand closed around it the moment a blinding jolt of agony shot through his chest, making his vision white out. He was sure he made a noise, he just didn’t want to know what that noise was. Could have been whining. Or he could be crying. He wasn’t sure. He pressed sticky fingers on the screen, and the trilling stopped. He just hoped...

“007?” The phone was still on speaker.

“Thank fuck...Q. Password...”

“You are injured, Agent. Medical is on their way - “

“No time. Crack the password...”

“Agent - ”

He sucked in a breath. “No. Time. They..won’t...oh God.” He collapsed to the carpet once more, the white light from the laptop screen shining on his face once more. “Hurts.”

“Bond, can you stay awake for me?” Barely even a change in voice, no waver, no panic. No pain. Bond smiled, despite the fire burning in his chest. Q is very good at his job, very calm.  

“I...I’ll try. Lung’s collapsing. Bleeding...”

“I’m working on the passcode right now. Bond, I need you to keep talking. Medical is on their way.”

“Blood.” He swallowed more blood. “Can’t breathe.” And he really couldn’t. He sucked in breaths, trying to keep his airway clear, but he kept having to swallow blood. So much pain in his chest, fuck. Fuck. “Collapsed lung.”

“I can hear it - alright, the laptop should let you in now.”

He blinked hard. Everything skewed and blurred in front of his eyes. “Can’t see it.”

“What?” Now there was a tiny inflection - fear - to Q’s voice. “Where is it?”

“The laptop...vision’s going.” He squinted and sucked down another breath that tasted like burning copper. He spotted a blur of silver, and then his eyes focused. He could see the screen, and it was in the startup screen. “Alright. Got it. It’s...what am I looking for?”

A pause. “Medical is ten minutes out.” Another pause. “You need to get into the hard drive.”

His chest felt like it was imploding, and pain sparked behind his eyes. His fingers tingled. He looked down at them. Blue. Turning blue. God, he was cold. He shivered, which only set off more sparks of pain. He rolled his head on the carpeting. His eyes closed again, just for a moment, he was just so damned tired and cold and done -

“James Bond, _respond!_ ”

He blinked. “Here...”

“Oh, thank God.” Now Q sounded panicked. Scared. He was trying to keep his voice on an even keel, trying to keep it together, but Bond could hear it. He could hear it all. “James, you need to stay with me, okay? Can you do that?”

“...tired...” And cold. Don’t forget cold. “...cold, too...”

“James, you need to keep talking to me.”

Bond didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to keep swallowing blood. He tried to take a breath, but his chest didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to move. He tried taking another breath. Fuck. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth, feeling warmth on his lips. He imagined it was Q’s lips. He was able to suck down a sip of air, enough to talk. Q wanted him to talk, right?

“...dinner...”

“Dinner?”

“Take...you.” He tried willing his lungs to open up, to take in more air. They weren’t working. His whole body was quivering, and he was cold. “...dinner...”

“Bond, stay awake. Please. Stay awake, damn it!”

Everything hurt. Everything was blurry, shades of watercolours swimming around in his head. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, and he tried moving his head to see if he’d managed to make it into the hard drive yet. Nothing worked. Another tiny sip of air that didn’t go down, then there was nothing but blood. He tried to swallow, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t cough, either. His body fought to breathe, but every time he tried he took in more blood. His brain was exploding in pain, turning the watercolours to lightning bolts, bright and sharp. An elephant was kicking his torso. He couldn’t breathe.

“James Bond. Bond! Respond!”

His ears were ringing, or was that the phone? Was he even on the phone anymore?

“Bond, please, damn it!” Incoherent muttering in the air.

So much pain, too much. Too tired to bother. He closed his eyes again and just listened to the phone that he hoped was still in his hand, listened to Q’s voice and waited for Medical to arrive. He wanted to rest for a bit, and then worry about the damned hard drive. He just wanted to rest.

“James, you said you wanted to take me to dinner, right? We’ll go to dinner. I know this place, you and your over-cultured tastes will love it. Extravagant prices for tiny portions, and too much red wine everywhere. You are paying, though, yeah?” A pause.

The phone fell from lax fingers.

“James?”

In the distance, the warbling of sirens could be heard, though the lights weren’t near enough yet.

“007!” Q’s voice, further away, could be heard from the overturned phone. “Damn it, tell those bastards to hurry!”

The room fell into silence once more.


End file.
